


the still point of the turning world

by driedvoices



Category: Chronicles of Narnia RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedvoices/pseuds/driedvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift fic for likecharity of livejournal. Skandar is sixteen and going to Mexico to shoot a film. These may or may not be problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the still point of the turning world

The park is empty.

This is perfectly normal, because it is after midnight on a Wednesday (Or Thursday, Skandar thinks, depending on how you look at it).

He exhales, and coughs a little, watching the smoke swirl around him. He doesn't hear Anna come up behind him, and he only closes his eyes when she grabs the cigarette out of his hands. She smirks at him, half his face illuminated by a streetlamp. "You're really too young for this, you know," she remarks, taking a drag before she crushes it under her foot.

"I'm sixteen," Skandar says, opening one eye just enough to glare at her.

She lies on the patch of ground beside him. "I know how old you are," Anna says, and smiles softly, but her eyes are very serious. Skandar sighs and turns to look at her, her profile outlined sharply in the dark. Her hair is pulled back so that he can see all of her neck, long and pale. Normally he would fight the urge he has to touch her, but it is after midnight on a Wednesday (or Thursday) and it seems like something he should do. She inhales and moves contentedly under his touch, the corners of her lips turning up. "Skandar," she murmurs, and swallows hard. "Skandar, you're sixteen." She locks eyes with him, and he pauses, fingers resting on her collarbone.

"I know," he says, and leans closer, his face hovering over hers.

"When do you leave?" she blurts out, pulling her face into a grimace almost instantly, mentally smacking herself in the forehead.

Skandar groans and falls onto his back. "January," he says finally, "They've told us January." There is a silence, broken only by Anna pulling another cigarette out of his pocket and him offering her a light.

"That's what—five months? Four?" she says, and her voice lingers in the air, gray and heavy and wistful. Skandar makes a noncommittal noise, and Anna covers her face with her hands. Skandar wants to grab her arm and pull her hands away, ask her why on Earth she'd want to hide, but he can't bring himself to do it. Sometimes Skandar would very much like to kick himself. "How did you know where I was?" he asks, and there is an air of guilt in his voice.

"I've told you, Skan," her voice is muffled by her palms, "you couldn't get away from me if you wanted to."

"Not like I'd ever want to," Skandar mumbles, and Anna's fingers curl reflexively, as if to hide her grin, "I should probably get you home."

"You walked here," she says pointedly, but she takes the hand that offers to help her to her feet nonetheless.

"So, five months?" he says in front of her doorstep. She holds the doorknob tightly and gives him a strangled sort of smile. "Yeah," she says, "Yeah. G'night, Skandar."

Skandar does not respond, just raises a hand in farewell and starts down the street to his house, the lonely car or two accompanying him. "Night, Anna," he says into his pillow, half-asleep, and reaches out to touch her though he knows she isn't there.

 

-

 

"It's raining," Anna says brightly, wringing out her shirt in Skandar's hallway.

"Really," Skandar says dryly, and ducks quickly to avoid being by Anna's dripping hair, "I hadn't noticed." She bats him playfully on the arm, already half-way up the stairs. He stands there for a moment, a stupid grin on his face, just watching her fidget; how she runs her hands over her jeans, how she crosses her arms over her chest like she's nervous around him (she's not), and mostly how the rain bled into her blue blue eyes and made them red around the rims. She looks at him as if to say _what are you waiting for?_ and he shakes himself, pressing his lips together, and follows her to his room.

(He does not watch her change after he hands her a pair of his trousers and an old t-shirt. But then, she isn't trying to hide it, he reasons, so it's not his fault when he catches a glimpse of her bare silhouette, and it takes longer than it should for him to look away.)

He blushes all through dinner—out of habit, mostly—and Anna watches him with pleasure, exchanging glances with him in between conversations with Mr. Keynes and No, Really, Call Me Zelfa. By dessert the rain has turned into a full-on storm, and when the table's cleared the lights flicker once, twice, three times before they stay out. It doesn't bother anyone, though, aside from a few initial shrieks and nervous chuckles, because there are candles and no one's keen on staying up much later, anyway. Anna sleeps on the sofa, flinching irrationally at every clap of thunder, until--

Until.

She gropes her way around the arch of the doorway, the smooth banister of the stair and the patterned wallpaper until she finds the door she knows best. She can hear peaceful breathing from both sides of the hall, and she slides into the room, quiet as she knows how to be.

He tenses when he hears her moving, but she grabs his shoulder and he knows who it is even before she whispers (her breath is hot and close and _shh, it's just me_ and he bites his lip hard to keep from thinking about the way her lips brush his ear). She curls against his side and it is a funny thing, how you can remember some things just by touch, without even realizing you knew it.

Anna wakes up because the sun is glaring through the windows, though it's much too early to wake up; its impatience forces Anna out of bed momentarily, careful not to wake Skandar as she shuts the blinds, and she assumes the position she'd kept most of the night: her chin tucked into the crook of Skandar's neck, her arm around his waist, and she'd like to stay asleep like this if waking up meant anything else.

 

-

 

It's always fun when somebody's parents leave town.

This week it's Skandar's, and Anna shows up like clockwork, ringing the doorbell impatiently while Skandar traipses through the house. He opens the door and closes it in one fluid motion, and if Anna hadn't known him so well, she would have gotten hit by it. Instead, she steps aside quickly and sets the pizza box in her arms and a bottle of wine on the coffee table.

"It took you three and a half minutes to answer the door," she informs him, rummaging in the kitchen for some glasses. "Your house is not _that big_ , Skan, honestly—"

"Yeah, well, maybe I was taking a piss," he says, his voice bouncing against the walls. Anna smiles and leans against the doorway. "You weren't," she says, and goes to sit down beside him.

The movie is old but it's a good one, slow and offbeat and funny in the right places, and they've watched so many times in this same way: more from memory than on a screen, and with a ceaseless string of chatter that carries on between favorite scenes.

"I only got them to put onions on your side," Anna murmurs, flicking an innocent mushroom off her plate.

"I hate onions," Skandar says, wrinkling his nose.

"So do I, obviously."

"We could save ourselves a load of trouble and just order pizza with no onions, you do know this?"

"Well, yes, but then what would we fight about?"

"Me, of course," says Will's disembodied voice, and Anna and Skandar both pause to stare at William walking out of Skandar's kitchen. He grins good-naturedly at them both before stealing a slice of pizza, and he winks when he walks out the door.

Anna's mouth is hanging open, and Skandar's eyebrows are twisted into such a state that can only be described as complete and utter confusion. He starts to ask, "How did he--?" at the same time as Anna says, "Did you know he was--?" and that is all it takes to send Anna over the edge, falling over Skandar's lap, laughing. Skandar sputters for a few moments, trying to hold it in, but he fails miserably, and they clutch at each other in between cries of _i can't even, anna_ and _no, really, i'm dying here_. Anna sighs, wiping tears of mirth out of her eyes. "Did he--?" she begins, a small roll of laughter bubbling up again, "Did he wink at us?"

"I think so," Skandar says, and nods with somewhat of a grimace on his face, but Anna is convinced that it is meant to be a smile. He reaches for the last slice of pizza and she smacks his hand away, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her closer to him. "Your hands are cold," he says, moving his fingers to grasp hers, squeezing lightly. She nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Anna—" he says, and exhales lightly, "Anna, I'm going to kiss you now."

She chuckles. "Alright."

He leans in and catches her lips ever so tentatively between his own, and after a moment he realizes that she is laughing. "What," he says, sounding vaguely annoyed but mostly amused.

"You taste like onions," she says, and Skandar shoves her lightly, but she still falls on her back, suppressing giggles with a throw pillow. After a few moments of careful consideration, he pulls the pillow away from her face and joins her.

When Anna walks home that night, she knows that they both have a new found appreciation of strong-smelling vegetables.

 

-

 

"I know it's going to be really hard for you," Skandar is saying, watching the scenery fly outside the car window.

"Mm," Anna says, her hands tight on the steering wheel.

"And you'll probably cry yourself to sleep for a bit."

"Oh, I'm so sure," Anna scoffs, but Skandar doesn't seem to notice.

Anna rolls her eyes so hard she has to blink a few times before the road comes back in focus.

"But in the long run, I'll only be gone a few months and you'll be perfectly alright."

"I know you will," Anna says softly, with a smile. Skandar makes a frustrated noise and throws up his hands in defeat.

"You could at least pretend that you're going to miss me, just a little bit."

Anna puts the car in park. "I'll come visit you," she offers, leaning back in the seat. Skandar seems slightly mollified and he grabs her hand and laces his fingers through hers. "When?" he says, grinning, "Valentine's Day?"

Anna snorts. "I'm not that stupidly romantic, Skan."

"What if I am?"

Anna smiles. "Then I swear on my life, Skandar Amin Casper Keynes, I will be in Mexico with you on Valentine's Day."

"Good," Skandar says, then: "If you ever call me by my full name again, I'll kill you."

"Oh, really?" Anna smirks. "Skandar Amin Ca—" Skandar leans over and claps a hand over her mouth, and they thank God for reclining seats, the airport momentarily forgotten.


End file.
